Crying
by AnonymousLampPost
Summary: Ulquiorra is visiting Orihime on his own time again, after making up another excuse of course. Everything is normal until Orihime brings up the question of Ulquiorra's appearance.


7

Crying

He didn't care for her personally. That's what he liked to believe, anyways.

"Ulquiorra, why don't you ever even _flinch_?"

She just so happened to be the only person in the worlds that did not think of him negatively, so who could blame him for being somewhat attached? Not to mention, she was beautiful in more ways than one.

"Because that is the seventh time you have tried to startle me."

He couldn't believe himself; this was the ninth time he had come to the woman's cell without being required to. Closing the door behind him, he told her the first lie that popped in his head. "I've overheard from Grimmjow. Loly and Menoly are talking about you as if they might try something—" He was rudely interrupted when the woman clapped her hands in front of his face.

For some time now, she had been hiding behind the couch and jumping out to scare him upon entering the room. She had tried said trick just a few moments ago, only to be disappointed yet again. Though this clapping tactic was new, it had the same effect.

Sighing, the woman retreated and sat on the couch, picking up a small notebook off the arm. She promptly entered her more serious mood.

"Woman…what are you trying to prove?" the fourth Espada asked, curious in spite of himself. She would always become normal (melancholic) after her swift, odd actions.

"You always have that look on," she said simply, gazing at the floor with a frown on.

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes slightly. Was she too attacking him like all the rest? He had expected it to happen eventually. It mattered little. All she was to him was a brilliantly colored woman with a sweet disposition. He liked to listen to her speak and watch her emotions, but he was most at peace simply looking at her orange hair. Everything in the world of Hueco Mundo was black and white. Even he himself was—his clothing, his skin, his eyes, his hair.

The woman looked up at Ulquiorra in confusion. This was usually where he would ask another question of her reasoning. Blinking at his downcast eyes, she blurted out, "Sorry!"

Meeting her eyes with masked surprise, the Espada asked, "Why are you apologizing, woman?"

For a moment he recognized relief in her eyes at his questioning. "Because I shouldn't have said that… I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"How did you mean it, woman?" He was taken aback at the speed at which he asked.

"Umm," she began slowly, not noticing his swift question, "you always look like…you're…umm…crying."

People had said he looked sad. Crying, however, was a different story. At such a strange statement, Ulquiorra remained silent.

"The tear marks aren't helping all that much," the woman laughed nervously, brushing an orange lock out of her face.

Silence.

"B-but I'm not saying I don't like them!" she added hastily. After a long moment passed and the fourth Espada remained utterly silent, she said with a frown, "Say something!"

Tilting his head to the side slightly, Ulquiorra said, "Since you insist. I think your imagination is getting out of hand."

She looked puzzled at his accusation. "What do you mean?"

What kind of question was that…? "Woman," he continued, finally stepping a few paces into the room after stiffly standing by the door the whole time, "I have been regularly informed I look depressed, but to go so far as to say I look like I am crying is quite a stretch. There are no tears on my face." Through his speaking, he had not failed to notice her looking more and more confused. "What is it?"

Standing hesitantly, she cocked her head and stared at him for a long moment.

It suddenly occurred to the fourth: This was the first time she had stuck with her imagination after he had corrected her.

"Ulquiorra," she said, a confused smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "when was the last time you looked in the mirror?"

"Are you implying I don't know what I look like?" he asked, finding something under the category of "irritation" in his voice.

"It's just," she protested, putting her hands on her hips, a bad sign that told him she was ready to argue, "they are there! I can see them, and it's not in my head this time!"

Speechless at her matter-of-fact tone, he gawked at her vacantly.

The woman quickly let her arms drop. "I guess I'm being silly…" she laughed, locking her hands behind her back and walking a few steps backwards. "I'm sorry… Maybe they really aren't there. I'm sorry I brought it up, Ulquiorra."

Her unexpected apology only kept him silent for about ten seconds, in which the woman sat back on her couch and watched him quietly.

Walking over to the small table in the center of the cell, Ulquiorra picked up the untouched knife next to a plate filled with untouched food. Glancing at her as if to say "I can't believe I'm actually wondering," he lifted it to his face and stared at himself.

There he was; his painfully black and white face staring back at him: black hair, white skin, black eyes. No tears.

"What do you see?"

The interest in her tone wasn't missed. Putting down the utensil with an inaudible sigh, he answered, "Me."

She stood up again, but otherwise didn't move.

Deciding, since he had humored her thus far, to plunge though the rest of the way, he said, "My hair and eyes are black. My face is white."

"Black," she mused vaguely, taking a step toward him. "Your eyes aren't black to me."

"Well, what color are they then?"

She took another step. "The tear marks and your eyes are both a very pretty green. I actually like them a lot."

"Green, huh?" he thought. "Aren't tears supposed to be colorless? Or…maybe blue?"He couldn't imagine himself with any eye shade but black. "I don't understand," he said. "Woman, are you making this up or not?"

Only when she shook her head did he realize how close to him she was. "No, I promise, that's what you look like." Only when a warm thing touched him, did he realize her hand was on his face.

Eyes widening, he opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, to find no sound emerge. Instead, he exhaled and waited for her explanation. Somehow the peace in the room demanded not to be disturbed.

As her gentle fingers traced imaginary lines running down his face to his chin, she said quietly, "I wonder why these tears don't stop falling?"

Reaching up and taking her hand (far more softly than planned) he removed it from his face. It wasn't out of annoyance, it just didn't feel right. Releasing her hand, he said, "Don't be foolish." At her dejected gaze, he found himself adding resignedly, "Woman, is there no way to make you happy?"

Turning and swiping the knife again, he gave the woman a "Stop looking depressed" glance and proceeded to see his reflection. One more time. Only one more time.

"Woman, there is nothing different, and there never will be. Let it go," he said, about to put down the blade and tell her he needed to leave (mostly to clear his head), when a hand closed around his. He knew she had said something along the lines of "Oh, that thing must not be working, let me see it," but didn't hear.

There he was. There were green tears on his face with matching eyes.

Just as he had frozen, so had the woman.

After a long moment, she detached her hand and took a step away.

He faced her, and they stared in silence.

"I saw how you see you, and…you looked even sadder without tears," she said softly. "By that look on your face I'm betting you saw how I see you," she said, a small smile on her face.

"Yes…" Ulquiorra's voice trailed off. What a weak-looking face he had to this woman. Yet…he would trade quite a bit to see himself that way. "Thank you, woman."

He missed the red rushing to her face due to so little light. "Y-you're welcome."

"I must look strange."

"No, no, I like it."

"…"

Silence.

"I suppose I'm not as colorless as I thought," the fourth Espada said to himself.

"Eh?"

"Nothing."

"…"

Silence.

As he stared at the ground, lost in thought, the woman suddenly closed the gap between them.

He felt her lips meet his, and instantly he backed up, almost tripping over his shock. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Adding to his stunned-ness, she smiled and laughed loudly. "I got that look of your face!" she said, locking her hands behind her back again. "Where did that come from?" she thought to herself.

Blinking frantically for half a second, he calmed himself. "I see," he said, relaxing somewhat. "It was to surprise me. Well done."

Her eyes fell, and her arms crossed in front of her. "Actually…"

Ulquiorra blinked.

"It wasn't…at first…"

Ulquiorra blinked again. "What are you…implying…woman?"

"Don't make me _say_ it!" she gasped, meeting his eyes again. This time he saw the red rush to her face. "OK… F-fine! I…I like you!"

He wasn't an expert on humans, but he knew what a kiss followed by the word "like" meant. Turning on his heal, he exhaled. A long silence elapsed, in which he heard the woman hold her breath and then inhale.

"Woman," the fourth said. He heard her breathing halt at his dark tone. "Think about where you are." After a moment of letting her remember her being a prisoner, he continued. "We are enemies. All it would take for me to kill you is an order from Aizen."

He heard her swallow. Good, she believed him. Now, if only he could believe him.

"I'm going to go now," he said, heading toward the door to escape. He didn't care about her. She didn't matter to him. She was nothing.

No matter how many times he told that to himself, it didn't seem to help.

Only until his hand touched the exit did the human speak.

"What about Loly and Menoly?"

Cringing inwardly, he halted. Of all the times for her to be listening to him….

"Forget that, Ulquiorra," the woman sighed, her tone slightly between the realm of angry and sad. "I know you've been lying about your reasons for being for a long time now."

Staring at his hand on the door, he couldn't bring himself to face her. How did she know that? Was she guessing? Why would she guess something like that? She didn't affect him. She couldn't affect him.

"I thought that maybe…you liked me too. I mean—not the way—I mean…I just thought…" The woman caught herself and clamped her mouth shut as she recuperated. "You want to be here," she said softly after regaining composure.

Narrowing his eyes, Ulquiorra let his hand fall as he turned to her.

He did want to be here. She was completely, utterly right. All the more reason to say these next, horrible words. They were enemies. If she chose to feel such a way about him, he must do the best thing for her.

"You are delusional, human," he said evenly, and, as expected, the woman's eyes widened. "I don't care about you. I don't not care about you. The only reason I am here is because of my orders. You mean nothing to me. Forget today."

Finally, he turned and opened the door in one motion. "Goodbye, woman."

Door closed behind him, Ulquiorra abruptly walked down the hallway before he could think about the words he had said.

But he hadn't fled quickly enough; the woman's voice reached his receptive ears, though he was sure she thought he couldn't hear her.

"I guess," she said, voice trembling, "both our tears won't dry up, for a long time, Ulquiorra."

He knew several things for certain:

One, he would not be visiting the woman on his own time anymore.

Two, he would act as coldly toward her as possible to rid her of any feelings she harbored for him.

Three, because of him she would be crying tonight.

Four, so would he.

He would always be crying.


End file.
